Detective Files Everlasting
by 4fireking
Summary: Why me? Why did I have to become a Spirit Detective? I'm not a hero, or the sidekick, I'm just the extra characters they add. But now I have to fight the demons, I have to do the tournaments, and I have to help people move on. My name is Jesse.


Disclaimer: I do not Yu Yu Hakusho

What does it feel like to be reincarnated? Is it even possible? As it has been proven, yes. But there is no easy way out of it. It's like having your finger trapped in a wolfs mouth. The wolf won't let go of your finger no matter how hard you scream. It will only clench its teeth harder until it completely ripped your entire finger off.

My first job. I have people to go back to, family I want to make up with, who were still mourning over me, but I wasn't allowed to go back to them until I kill four demons. It sucks. I dreamed of living a normal life where I could work at a cubicle, be employed by a good boss, and one day retire and spend all my time raising a dog, working out at the YMCA, and maybe write my own book. Yeah, not happening.

Okay, instead of rambling words that don't make any sense let me back up and explain things much clearer. I died. Well, I'm not dead...I was dead but I was brought back to life. I'm not a zombie or anything I'm just a—losing track of myself. Before I died, which I'm not, I was a very timid child. I'm not Superman. I'm not even Batman, though Batman is at least twice as cool as a Superman. I'm just a boy from Detroit. But now I'm somewhere in Japan. I can't really explain it. First I was reading my book outside and I heard the sound of something big like a bulldozer. The rest I can't remember. All I do know is when I woke up a girl with lavender hair claiming to be the Grim Reaper picked me up on her magical broom and took me to a place called Spirit World. I met a boy who I thought was a girl at first named Kurama. He told me I was a ghost but Koenma let me live because I surprised the king of the underworld or something. There's not much more I can say. I met a toddler who could talk, laughed at him, and the Grim Reaper smacked me in the face. I'll never forget the burn mark she left on me. It hurt.

" Jesse Capra," the toddler said to me. " We must prove if you're the next soul we're looking for. You will start your adventure as a ghost. No human will see you, but demons will. You will help people like you who're trapped in this world. Find them and help them move on to their next life."

That's what he said. But I don't know what's so special about this place. It's just an empty playground. Empty swings, and see-saws, and no one was going through the monkey bars. It was just a normal place. If there was really a ghost living here I think at least one person, someone who is obsessed with the ghosts and a little oppressed maybe, would be able to see a ghost. He would probably see the ghost as transparent like some projected image. But this scout wasn't going to give up. I was going to find this little ghost and make him move on to his next life even if I had to do it forcibly.

" You're doing great," Brie said on her magical flying broomstick. " Just keep looking."

Easy for her to say. She's airborne. If something vicious comes out she can just fly away and go anywhere she wants. While she goes flying off to Koenma to tell him what a failure I am, I'm stuck down here hoping I won't have my neck ripped off. You know how in all those Dreamwork and Disney movies the main hero is a character who is pumped up about winning their dreams? I'm the opposite of those characters. Some dreams aren't meant to come true I always say. It's kinda like being star-crossed lovers. And being a star-cross lover means it will end in failure. Another example is how we shake our left hand so many times it becomes a tedium.

I could hear my inner voice prattle on and on about how I CAN'T trust these guys and I should GO home! But you know how you want to give up eating sugar but than you see a piece of cake and want a slice? This time I heard someone crying. I'm not going to explain much more than I already am. It was crying.

Someone.

Somewhere.

There was something or someone out there somewhere crying his little head off. You have to ask yourself, does it matter. I hear babies crying in the malls, in the movie theaters, even in the library I hear little kids crying and I don't do a thing about it. Sometimes people aren't looking for any help. Especially not if you're an unattractive, overachieving, hideous boy whose blonde-haired Mohawk make you look like a street punk. But I wasn't a street and a punk. I'm really a nice guy. I walked to where the sound was coming from and found a little boy on a bench. Normally this wouldn't interest anyone. Did I mention the tree branches beside him were growing arms? You could almost not see him. His body was so transparent you could see the tree through his hollow body. This was a genuine ghost. Boy was he sad.

" Brie, w-what s-should I-I d-do?" I stammered when I saw how transparent the boy looked.

" Talk to him," she said.

Now how was I suppose to do that? He was crying. In every horror movie I've watched before I die its if there's a person crying in the show its usually the ones possessed by a demon. The boy didn't seem all that demon-like to me. But I think it's that kind of thinking is what gets a characters head ripped off. The ghost finally stopped crying and sat solemnly on the bench, a cold wind blew behind my shoulder. Now was my chance.

" Hello," I said, he looked at me with surprised look in his eyes. I don't think he was use to lots of people talking to him. I know I'm not. I didn't have a lot of friends before I died. In fact , the only friends I had were a group of three boys and two girls calling themselves the Shadow Stalkers. I sat down next to the boy and tried making a conversation with him. " My name is Jesse. What's your name?"

The little boy wasn't the talkative type. For the past two minutes I've been sitting here he hasn't said one word to me. The closest thing we had to a conversation was when he got off his bench and rubbed my face. A normal human hand materialized and that's how he could touch me. I tried to touch the boy, but my hand just went through him.

" Woah. If you're going to be touching me that much you'll have to take me on a dinner date," I said trying my best to smile.

" You're not dead," the boy said.

" Thank you," I said not sure whether I should be happy or not. " It's always been a puzzle to me."

" How can you see me? Are you a demon?"

" No. I-I d-died A f-few w-weeks a-ago. Maybe dying is what allows me to see the supernatural. Can I ask you a question?"

" What?"

" Can you please tell me why you're so sad so I can help you."

" I'm sad."

" I know you're sad. But could you tell me why you're sad. Please. I know it might be hard telling me because I'm a stranger, but I'm a very trustworthy guy. I'll keep your secret safe."

" The bullies that killed me, they continue to haunt me. They kick my grave stone, spit on the flowers I grow, and now they pick on my sister. Why...Why does everyone pick on me? Those bullies just won't leave me alone!"

" Uh? Bullies? Oh no."


End file.
